Fever Dreams: 2D Noodle
by Carnivo
Summary: 2-D's depression since the El Manana conspiracy has only worsened after his kidnapping to Plastic Beach. However, when Murdoc's publicity stunt actually takes a turn for the better, something rather peculiar and wonderful is about to take place.
1. Prolouge 1: 2D's Intro

It was the damned music that wouldn't stop.

Gravit-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay…

It was a truly ironic that 2-D, who had sung those words just to keep himself breathing once, was surrounded in the single substance that did not support the petty aims of petty , to be specific he was surrounded by wall, but that wall was only so thick, and following immediately after that dark interior, there was only ocean.

He was stranded in all that ocean- for miles and miles and maybe even light-years from a human standpoint. It was Point Nemo, after all. The farthest location from any land contact that could've ever been dreamt of. Yup, it was very dark living in an underwater room.

2-D, whom has much time to spend speculating how he'd managed to retain even that much gravity in a room that was surrounded by water from the outside (not to mention the whale, oh don't think about the whale, don't think about the…)

There were no mirrors in his room – a luxury Murdoc rejected outright without a word, but one of the few missing luxuries that didn't bother 2-D so much. He felt usually he was a rather simple man –but that was before he got on stage, of course- and even more so now that he didn't have anyone to even stand up straight for, not to mention shave or arrange for. Nobody came around those parts, not even a scuba crew, fancy tourists, poor tourists, a wry sailboat caught in a dreadful, chemical storm. He was certain that the remains of ship wrecks touched face with the Plastic Beach, but they never carried survivors with them.

At the best of times, his only companies were Murdoc, his little Cyborg, and his bloody whale. This was enough to depress anyone. And 2-D was still rather chaffed about the gassing, and the kidnapping, not to mention the whale. Oh, the bloody whale.

2-D was the front man, singer, and pianist of the world-renowned digital group known as 'the Gorillaz'. They were a phenomenon unleashed onto the grateful world by the very dreadful accident that was his meeting with Murdoc Niccals- demonic bass player, alcoholic, and Satanist who would one day amount to the upspurer of that band. He was all hard rock, there, Murdoc was, but at the time 2-D was little more than an awkward but pretty blue-haired boy who had at that time gone by the name Stuart Pot, working at his Uncle's record store at the wrong place and the wrong time. It was then Murdoc had come screeching in- literally – and smashed into his world – also literally.

He had lost one of his eyes at that time. It was dented permanently into his head, leaving only a great black hole in its vacancy, and the incident also robbed 2-D of his consciousness for a good time until Murdoc saw it fit to shove him into another automotive accident, in which the second time his right eye had also been plugged into his bright little head. This left him to be known as none other than '2-D' more or less named so due to the two dents, smack-dab in his face. It was a remarkable, if painful, begging. This may or may not have been the final string that had led to the dependency he had developed to his pain meds, but it was one accident upon many, and the more dependent Murdoc became on wreaking havoc, the more dependent 2-D became on trying to put a stopper on it, which only brought the poor dented man more pain, which only wrought more pills, which only bought out Murdoc to cause more trouble. Vicious but unstoppable cycle, really.

The band was little trouble to bring up with Murdoc's questionable but powerful resources. Russell Hobbs, and acclaimed percussionist, was swiftly kidnapped and brought to Kong Studios – which was their place of solace and upbringing at the time. After a brief but deeply-cutting squabble with Paula Cracker, who had been both the guitarist and 2-D's girlfriend at the time, they were without a guitarist, but it did not hold the group down long. With a simple notice for a top-class guitarist sent out by the group, it was only a matter of time before Noodle would arrive to them.

And Noodle should've been an entire story on her own, but her's tangled with their's in the messiest and best of ways early on in her complicated life. She arrived, shipped to them with heavy amnesia but outstanding guitar skills, a ten-year-old girl straight out of a Fed-Ex box. The little girl only knew a single spot of English, the word Noodle, for which became her namesake. She couldn't identify herself in any other way for the longest time, speaking only in strings of Japanese and exclamations of music.

After their career took off, her intellect and spirit bloomed in accordance with their travels world-wide and otherwise. Before the group's eyes she grew, became more talented, beautiful, and spirited, a girl impossible to describe and impossible to ignore, by even Murdoc's standards. The boys did have a run for their money raising the girl, of course, but it was well worth the effort, in any way they could think of.

It was during Demon Days, the album which 2-D's feelings had grown the most morphed in, that she had died.

Finally letting out his shudder, feeling an enormous whale's eye pinned to him through the wall of his confinement place, 2-D dragged himself to his bare feet and crossed his shabby room's floor.

If he'd pulled out a single strand of his unkempt blue hair for every little thing he had to be depressed for, he'd been bald long ago and would be left pinching at his skull for more.

He was underwater, where he was very fearful he was going to run out of gravity, air, or worse yet, zombie films, at any given second.

He was being forced by an awfully stubborn Satanist to record an album completely against his will, at a location hundreds of miles away from any other land mass in the world.

He was being watched by the most ungodly animal imaginable at all times, paralyzed by his phobia and rarely able to leave his own room out of the fear of the sodding thing.

He hadn't heard from Russell, his only remaining live friend, in years.

And then…

Noodle was gone.

Noodle was dead.

There was nothing he could do for her.

But think about her.

Even though she was dead.

And there was nothing he could do for her.

And then there was the Cyborg. Who most certainly was **not** Noodle.

But at times…

He suddenly had a headache.

Popping several pills in his mouth and swallowing them completely dry, the long-limbed vocalist slipped into the lift, eerily followed by the sound of his own voice even as the metallic doors cut off the view of his room. The tight space rocked slightly as it raised itself, but 2-D hardly felt it through the banging imaginary fists on his brain, hurting all the way into his teeth.

"Gravit-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay…" He murmured, relieving his sore jaw, even if only temporarily.

"I wonder sometimes, 2-D-san; does heaven obey Gra-vi-ty?" An accented voice chided, suddenly, and he knew immediately where it has come from. He glanced down immediately to his side, right below his shoulder, where he had expected Noodle to be.

The lift jolted to an unprecedented stop, swinging gently a final time as 2-D hopped out, scrambling out past one of the many monitors Murdoc had picketed around the place. If he was even remotely lucky, at times he'd be able to make it to the beach, if that revolting pink mess could even be referred to as a beach, and sit it out. Sit out all his thoughts and just look over the ocean, which he knew at the very least, was real, even if it hosted all manners of whales.

Plastic Beach was the land of Rubbish he'd been exiled to. After Noodle's death, the group had split up. It was needless to say she was their happiness, peace, and joy, their utter center, and although each reaming man had tried their best to mask their grief and shattered resolve, in the end they left Kong, one by one.

It was years later, however, that 2-D, unable to recover from the depression and get up off his ass to amount to anything further, was gassed and shipped to Plastic Beach, in circumstances quite similar to how Noodle had arrived to them those countless years ago. Murdoc, never one to pass up any opportunity in the slightest to make money, had demanded only more from what little of the band he could conjure, and held 2-D against his will in the Studio, forcing him to perform.

This change of events, no matter how productive, did little to sway 2-D's desolate mood. This was likely further fueled by the fact that shortly after he had left the group, Murdoc had apparently taken it upon himself to 'build' a Noodle replica. Using DNA he scrapped from the scene of her death, he somehow fused it into metal and circuitry to create her robotic clone, dubbed Cyborg, as not to raise confusion. This sat ill-eased with 2-D, who loved Noodle certainly as a brother, and ached for her in a way he could not explain, but who was helpless to stand up to Murdoc's awful whims in any way.

So there the poor man was, a shade of his former self, stuck adrift on the Plastic Beach, with his own right company the guilt in his stomach and the pills in his throat.

As he exited the shabby entrance room, his body immediately sighed at the tasteless air around the fortress. Normal beaches, he'd learned once when he was young, smelled slightly of salt and sometimes of cigarettes depending on how close you got to the bums, but mostly salt. This place smelled like nothing, which was more pleasant than the beach reek, but not even half as comforting.

The poor man was about ready to break down at that point, about ready to throw himself into the sea to get to anywhere from sodding point Nemo. If that plan didn't succeed, he'd cling to a walrus or the like for the rest of his life. He doubted that a walrus wouldn't be much better company than what was here.

And he really was about to plunge into the salt water, despite the fact he wasn't sure if he could swim or not, sure Murdoc would drag his sorry skinny arse back inside if he hesitated even in the slightest. It didn't seem right, but nothing really did at that point, and doing nothing was the last of things that would change his sorry life. He'd realized that long ago, but didn't have the means of escaping.

Well, that's what he told himself.

It was at that second, though, putting his hands together, and staring blankly into the navy waters below, that out of the corner of one of his very dark eyes, he made out a huge brown patch in the sea. Like no seaweed patch he'd ever seen before.

Before his very eyes, a very enormous Russell Hobbs emerged from the ocean's depths, sea water skiing down his body like snow fleeting from the sky. His ghastly white eyes immediately turned to the vocalist who suddenly found himself shaking acutely, and raised a thick eyebrow. He was about the size of the entire Plastic Beach. 2-D, who was used to being the tallest presence in the band, was a thousand times outdone.

"'D?" He murmured, raising a huge lip.

It was then the pills kicked in, and to their desired effect, fogged the brain, and swung 2-D straight off his feet. And as he fell his eyes shut, and he was no longer conscious.


	2. Prolouge 2: Noodle's Intro

Her thin and small body was dark in the snowy-hued water. The entire wet body was illuminated in the sun, blasted with a colorless light, save her own figure shrouded in a shadow only as wide as her tiny frame could hold. She was sitting dead still, possibly impossible to distinguish from any other dense matter if there had been any in sight. It was only she, contained by the ocean, and the ocean, contained by the blue atmosphere that locked the entire world. She took a gradual and shabby breath, her entire chest mustering it up through her lips, the only spectrum of her face visible, the rest lapped over by a pale and naked mask. Her body, which had once indefinitely held a fierce spirit of dance and music, was dappled in black and red bruises- cut like stars under her skin. The oceans waves mouthing at her hips, completely engaged in the water, both soothed and stung her.

Meanwhile, a natural symphony was beginning to mount, the waves sighing masterfully around her as her shivers hardened in her beaten muscles. It was something only she was able to here, regardless of the fact there was not a single soul around to witness it. Her now steady but once silent heartbeat throbbed within her ribs as a percussion, as the waves glittered like guitar riffs surrounding her. Her constant breaths, dragging through her teeth and chapped lips like a thousand pounds, conformed to a bass line of sorts, the perfect track to match her disaster.

As she sat in the peaceable waves, her knees coiled up to her chest, she found herself awaiting a quiet voice to pick up from beside her. A sometimes disarmingly sweet, but dependably brave voice, but not the voice of just any choir child or club rat. She was waiting for the voice of Stuart Pot to start up.

The percussion in her chest shifted to an awful sound as her heart began to strobe in pain, and the music she imagined cut short completely, torn and broken open. She closed her eyes completely then, though her vision had already been restricted by her wounded face and confining mask, and clenched a sigh tightly in her cheeks as tears grew steadily in her sore eyes.

An ominous ring of clouds had formed overhead in the sky at what seemed only a thumb's breadth from the white sun, and as the interlocked channel of clouds meshed together over it, the warmth instantly vanished. Vanished and drained towards her vantage point one more time, swallowed up inside her and suddenly gone.

With the last bit of her final strength, she wadded up to the shore, finally sure that she would rather face Hell than the seas of oblivion.

Her time in Hell made her spiral into death look like a joyride through the Candy Mountains. She could remember both a great deal more clearly than she would've liked. The first event- her death, she had begun to think of as her decent into the entire nightmare, was brought on suddenly, but didn't pass without much deliberation, and for lack of a better word…. Hellishness.

There she had been, legs draped over the firm edge of her floating island as it drifted amongst perfectly white clouds in the magnetic sky. She strummed her guitar endlessly, her surroundings care free, warm, and as welcoming as anyone could imagine, however… her heart had remained very heavy following the effects the Feel Good Inc. Nightmare had had on her. She was usually very outspoken for a girl who had English as strictly a second language. However, alone, above all the noise and rotting garbage bellow, as free as she felt, she was also completely alone. It was a fact that antagonized her, no matter how pointedly she would play her guitar and sing. There was no one to hear her.

But, then, helicopters broke the clouds and the heavy chopping sound of their blades ricocheted all around her, and as bullets flew she had no choice but to desert her lonely station ad run for her only chance of safety- the windmill which kept her island constantly spun. Gunfire splattered dirt and clumps of land all around her, spraying her vision with dark colors and sparks as fire ignited.

She made it to the windmill, only to be further shot down when all the blades stopped spinning, her island having nowhere to go but down.

And no matter how she screamed, at the top of her lungs, all there was… was down.

She did, however, survive. That was not to say that she was unscathed. Or that she lived much longer.

She died as she had lived for that long while – alone. She could still remember, reflected in her mind behind her green eyes shut tightly in her head to keep them from popping in pain, her family. The only family she had ever known, or could ever ask for, all displayed in high quality and tone right before her as she gasped for air, her wounds screaming to be closed.

Russell, who had been so close to her he had become something to her she could not explain, a figure caught between father and brother. He was always there, his intimidating bulk and white stare, his voice so soothing when calm and electrifying when angry- which he often became at Murdoc after any number of his antics. Murdoc, who was the roughest diamond in the stone she had ever seen, had pulled through for her on a number of occasions for reasons she did not know. She had seen him be crude, indecent, and abusive, but as hard as he was, she still found humor in him. Though she never claimed to see anything decent, there was certainly humor, and he sure did treasure her for that.

Above them all, though…

She knew she always loved 2-D, though she never brought herself up to say anything. Not to him, not Russell, not Murdoc, not a diary she had thought to keep or a scrap of paper even. That was something she kept inside of her all the time. During interviews, performances, even during down time. It was hardest when it was the two of them, alone, a zombie film the only thing between them and complete silence together. She loved and hated those moments, her disability to be bold, to say or move, to speak. She felt two-faced and awful after such circumstances, as if she were hiding something from her best friend of all friends. It didn't feel wrong to her, despite the huge age difference, despite the language barrier that had melted but left a mess, despite anything anyone could have said. She just didn't want to lose him.

And over that, she chose to loose herself. In itself, she would much rather die that horrible, wheezing death, than have had him on that island with her when it fell. She just wish he knew that amount of freedom, that lack of gravity. She knew the magnitude of good it could do for him, up high, above the meds and garbage.

But she was dead then, and again, she was sinking.

But 5 years later, as the woman with the painted mask emerging out of the sea, the gravity of the world was evident, even in the sea. As she marked boat after boat, searching the world for a possible safe place to be without gunfire, all she was was followed. And she retaliated heavily every chance she could.

But that day, sea leagues away from Point Nemo, what seemed as a horrible last hope but her only last hope nonetheless, she was shot dead off her own boat, thrust back into the heartless sea.

It was little more than ten minutes later she was scooped up by a giant being, water shooting off his dark, perfectly bald head like sink water from fine china. The giant, with white glowing eyes and the aura of Brooklyn, was noneother, of course, than Russell Hobbs. Her would-be brother, and true savior.

That was, the first time she had felt in many years, that pain and happiness mixed, and brought tears to her hidden eyes.

The reunion- as awkward as it was, seeing as Noodle was about 1/10 at the most of Russells hugely enlarged size – was memorable and completely emotion-exhausting. Still, as heart-wobbling as it was, happiness had never felt so fresh in Noodle's now-tight heart, but she knew there was still farther she had to go.

The Plastic Beach was within sight, the last place she could hope to find the other remaining to clues to her own personal puzzle. It was only to be, however, when she finally reached them, that nobody was home.


	3. Chapter 1: A Green Man's Plan

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter was difficult to write, especially because it sets up the basic foundations for the story… essentially. I wanted to space it out so it's not so difficult to read (I know it's a bore in some parts but, it's a good story, I promise, this is the groundwork.) I'm not sure if I have the correct character voices in order just yet, I'm a bit rusty since the last chapter. I know there's been a long wait but I intend to do my best to keep up from now on. There should be no problem since I have a pretty clear view of what to do in the next few chapters. I promise excitement!**

**Please review and add to your watched list. I think it will be well worth your time.**

**Also, if you've written any fanfics, please share them with me! I'd love to read them and give advice and support in return. (:**

**- Cassy**

**

* * *

**

The audience's roars were constant, but the inexplicable peaks of sound were the things that blew the brightest in Stuart's mind. Sometimes, seemingly without reason and especially without warning, the voices would rise to near hysteria, never pausing to stop their arms, pounding without hurting, screaming without fear, laughing without hearing a single joke. That was what fun really was. A completely human process. Something that other humans needed to be a part of. In order to make it exist. In order to bring it forth.

So why was he so far away ? Even if he could no longer be in part of that happiness, it would certainly make him feel a lot taller if he could at the least excite it. Something. Something else was all he really needed.

When he opened his eyes and found it, he suddenly wasn't so sure that something would be so good.

"Bloke? You up?" A gruff voice murmured, an odd 'put-put' sort of growl lingering in the throat of the disembodied sound.

"Wull, I don' know now, really, I don' really fink so." 2-D murmured, clutching the hangover that was churning around and around his brain, laughing in liquid at him. He swore he could feel all the alcohol he'd ever tasted building up in his skull. It was a miracle it wasn't pouring out of his ears and nose.

"If you possess the ability to think at all, then yes." The gruff voice continued, simply.

Unable to see completely out of his already warped vision, the vocalist rolled in a white cotton bed he'd found himself on, sitting up straight directly into what he recognized as a hospital room, which was not spinning as it normally had been the past times he'd been there before.

"Wot am I doin' ere?" He murmured, mostly to himself, head spinning on his shoulders. He was instantly terrified. Sure, he had a massive migraine- this was nothing new. And his hangovers were always treated at home. Even before his 'home' was a piece of floating plastic hundreds of miles away from any other landmass. The rockstar career wasn't exactly renowned for its health insurance.

Then, the foggy thought emerged, of Russell's face, larger than a full-moon, dribbling with water, bursting out in front of him. 2-D cowered in his spot, which the gruff-voice man to the left of him simply turned away from. Consulting some charts on a dull brown clipboard, the man spoke on.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Pot?"

"Not nearly a need to be so formal to the dullard, fella." Murdoc's voice piqued from the doorway. 2-D hoped up in his bed again, gathering up his senses at the balls of his feet, his legs hardly able to hold his movements . He pointed a finger, cut off from his accusation by the Satanist, who continued to speak to the Doctor.

"Don't expect 'im to be knowing anything at all." Murdoc continued, strutting in, fitted in full leather and his green screen becoming all the more glaringly malnourished in the fluorescent lights.

"I see." The Doctor said, his lips pressed thin. "Shall I explain the predicament or would you prefer?"

"A'tually, no. 've already got someplace to be." Murdoc said, a somewhat more distracted look appearing in his curtained eyes, as he shook it off, he headed back for the door, his weird frame eventually disappearing, and without one word to 2-D, he had simply said to the Doctor, once more, "Try to keep him marbles in order, will ya? If I lose one more sodding member in me sodding band, there's gonna be more than hell to pay."

The Doctor, who had set aside his clipboard, was shaking his face, and rubbing his blubbery nose. "Never could stand the primadonna type. Who's that one? Manager?"

"'e's our base playar." 2-D said, sitting back down on the cot, not finding a proper amount of room to stretch his limbs out in. He rather disliked the odd gown they decked him in- it made him feel all drafty and looney. He hoped nobody'd seen something they wouldn't be able to forget.

"So I see." The man said, looking no more assured. "This has gone on for far too long. Mr. Pot, allow me to explain you situation just one time."

2-D shrugged.

"Mr. Niccals found you slumped out over the deck of your so-called… what was it? Plastic Town? Whatever it is, there you were, unconscious. You surprisingly almost knocked your nose in. You don't have to check. It's broken, but we've already set it straight. You woke up briefly when you first arrived here, but you seemed oddly…how would you say it? Drugged-up? Is that how you knocked your head, Mr. Pot? Get a little lost in the high?"

"Wut? No. Wull, not in the…" 2-D paused, feeling a ramble beginning, and clutched at his head, which had, in an odd sense, felt like it was holding its own breath. "Jus' some pain killas."

"I see." The Doctor said, setting his chin down, his dark eyes darting under the cot 2-D kneeled in, long hands wrapped over his own head, without anything to mask his pain. "Well, we're going to have to keep you here for some time. Mr. Niccals has told us that you've suffered from… delusions in these past days. Seeing things that aren't there. So I think it's appropriate to keep you here for a few more short weeks."

With that, the Doctor nodded, 2-D only barely able to keep his eyes open through the cracks still open through his lanky arms crossed over his face. "I'll be seeing you, then, Mr. Pot."

Shortly after the Doctor had left the room, white medical coat swishing over his heels like a cloak over naked ankles, 2-D raised himself up off the cot and yelled, "Wull? Wha is this place?"

"It's a hospital, 2-D-San." A small voice murmured. 

* * *

"I wonda if that was a bit of overkill." Murdoc murmured, locking the apartment door behind him. He was staying at a whole-in-the-wall, rat-infested motel room, scarcely large enough to be referred to as a booth, and contained only enough room for his bed (likely freshly coated with rat droppings) and for Cyborg's charging port. "Oh, well, it might serve the dullard right for a bit 'o shaking up, dontcha think, love?"

Cyborg, with blue electricity coursing over the frame of her small body pocketed in the extremely water-logged corner of the room, did not answer. Her entire face was downcast with shadows, ranging in smooth blue tones over her features, making her appear to be nothing more than a skinny Asian girl sleeping upright. Anyone else would be fooled.

Murdoc, who had paused, uncharacteristically thoughtfully, at the foot of said corner, suddenly twisted his sights back to life and rasped the girl on the head a good time, a single light knock all she needed to joist her systems.

Her face rose, eerie mechanic neck muffling the cranking sound of her metal vertebrae adjusting. "Sir." She said, her voice described only as… empty.

"Listen, will you, this is important." He murmured, temporarily heading for the door-way sized bathroom. Grooming had never once reached the priority list of Murdoc's needs, and it wouldn't have surprised the Cyborg at all (despite the fact that her emotional drive was practically nonexistent and just about nothing would shock her but electricity regardless) if he had gone there simply to vomit after a night of hard drinking. Instead, he seemed only to be wandering.

He paused briefly at his reflection, and seemingly completely unaffected by his own greenish complexion, an almost decayed tone, circled back round and sat on the edge of his bed, eyes pinned at the Cyborg's unruly dark hair, cropped perfectly around her face as she stared back, face blank.

"We're off the beach-"

"I'm aware." The Cyborg said, clearly, as if reporting something. "We are currently located at the direct outskirts of London."

Murdoc shook his head, irritated by her tactless interruption, reminding himself periodically she knew no better. But it was something a few hard knocks wouldn't fix. Not even in the real Noodle.

"Yeah? D'you know why?" Murdoc growled. He expected no reaction from her, and that was what he got. She did not even reply with an 'Negative.' "'Xactly." He spat. "Now stop your damn jabberin' an' lemme set it awl straight."

He launched into the very beginnings of his plan which, unfortunately, he had not had time to report to his toy before they set off to London. The green man explained that shortly after finding his front man slumped out over the deck of Plastic Beach, he had assumed that the idiot had tried to force an escape. At first he simply roughed him up a bit – which was always the course of action Murdoc took when he was displeased with anything in the slightest. But after not even that awoke the beaten vocalist, Murdoc took a bit to thinking (after a round of drinking, as dangerous a sin as the first), he came about an idea.

"Ya know, why settle wif all this rubbish forever, hm? I thought to myself, and this is really good, listen hard; 'What we really need, to get back into the public eye, is a good old fashioned **publicity stunt**.' Yeah? I haven't seen a good one of those in forever. Really. And who betta, to orchestrate it, than me? And who better, to be the performer, than our very own front man… 2-D? You follow?"

The Cyborg whirled a mechanic nod, wordlessly, eyes still pinned on him, her frown natural and apparent.

"'Course, 'e don't **know** he's performing anything. That's the brightest bit. I thought, what's a good way to get everyone's attention? And the answer came. Like a clock in the face. **Rehab**. Rehab! The money-maker of all tabloids." He paused, almost willingly, for a moment, expecting some gleeful reaction from his partner in crime, but carried on before she would have mustered one, even if she had the human capacity for it.

"There's no end to the list of things faceache should be in rehab for. Really. You think he'd have a frequent flyer card there by now, ya know? But no, no, no. All these vices are old news. Every decent rock god of any given millennium's got these problems- the girls, the fags, the pain killa's – no big deal. It's been done before. So. I decided- why not make him delusional?"

* * *

"N…" 2-D began, his damaged eyes as wide as he could bear to leave them, pain still waving in rivets in and out of his head. A weird stabbing sensation had begun in his ears, making the conjuring of any thought extremely difficult for the poor man. But the vision of the girl in front of him was something he couldn't ignore. "Noodle?"

"Hai." She said, in her sharp voice. She grinned, her mouth full of perfect teeth.

The voice rang in his head, the sight of her smile enough to make the vocalist want to through his own mouth into a smile, but he could scarcely move.

"Wut… wut are you doing here?"

"I followed you, 2-D-San." She said, her voice now a whisper, her green eyes seeming to deepen as she stared further back at him, her skinny body as full of confidence as ever. "I wanted to be with you."

"…'is in't real." 2-D said, his body subtly slumping, voice tinged in regret.

"Do you wish it was?" She asked, her face glowing with light, as if it had never fallen.

He looked back up at her, through his hair. He desperately didn't want to break down, not here, whether or not this was real, though he felt the odd pressure of panic building in his head. His blue locks did not seem to obstruct his view, only framing the vision of her face, as she peered at him.

"O' course." He mumbled. "That don't make it so, though."

"Sure it does." She said. 

* * *

Cyborg, digesting the information her master had just poured over her, managed a blink before responding. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Of course not." Murdoc laughed, a half bark in his voice. The high of his story was too strong to make him angry enough to yell at the moment, though. "I'm not through yet.

"I decided to ship him off to this esteemed ward 'ere in London. Seemed real nice. To be honest, though, I want to make this whole thing very convincing. I did a bunch of searching for just the right drugs to pull off the entire 'delusions' stunt. Cost me near a fortune. Course, a small fortune is nothing to me now… not really." He seemed to reflect on this for a second, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. It wasn't long before his oily voice started back up, however, his eyes still above.

"I've lost worse a pretty penny. On you, for an example, love." He murmured, seemingly meaninglessly. "Anyways. Switched the fella's pain pills for these delusion starters. Should've taken affect by now. Should also be a great deal of fun to watch from afar."

Cyborg, who had stood near motionlessly, through this entire story, spoke up. "Is there something you wanted me to do for this, Sir?"

"Oh, right. You." Murdoc murmured, his lips screwed into a tight smirk. "You've got a very important job. If the other components in my plan have followed our bait, well, then… our Dullard's recovery shall be the most miraculous one in the world's dammed history."

He shrugged, turning side-to-side, looking for a drink, before giving up, and standing back up. **"Should be a while yet."**


	4. Chapter 2: For Got Ton

**Author's Note:**

**I am splitting these chapters up into parts because I feel my chapters are FAR too long to stomach in one sitting! This should also make releases a lot quicker. I have to write a couple of drafts for each chapter before I'm satisfied with it, and this makes the process a heckuva lot easier! I hope everyone is okay with this. I want to thank EVERYONE who added this story to their watch list. I want everyone to know I loove you. : D **

**Here we go: **

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"I don't understand, Russel-Sama." Noodle said, her knees pressed into the hard floors of the Study. She wasn't surprised that it seemed Murdoc had invested hundreds of hours polishing up his own study, rather than the entire Island he mounted it up on. He certainly invested himself in the oddities of all details. "Why would they leave… now? Of all times?" 

"I don't get it either, baby-girl." Russel's soft voice poured, from the window. He was not nearly small enough to enter the place, in fact, he hardly managed to stick his hand through the windows for Noodle to enter. He thought it a really big wonder she could find her way around with that mask over her face. She walked, if not perfectly, with purpose. 

She stood, her posture as perfect as ever, the sense of purpose in her outstanding. Then again, she wasn't so little anymore. Maybe it wasn't so peculiar she had something to do. 

Russel wanted badly to question her about her whereabouts over the past years, how she'd been, who she met, and why she'd been away so long. An important question probing at him was what exactly lurked under the mask, but in a fashion he found most cowardly for himself, he was almost afraid to ask. She didn't seem entirely the same girl. 

Certainly not. She was a woman now. Her gait alone was evidence of that. Her frame, once devoid of any curves onceover, now swayed with each step she ventured. It was a pretty thing, albeit a bit strange to think of. He felt nearly ashamed, watching her from the window, able to only make notes of her in the ways she moved and looked. He used to know everything about her –down to her favorite juice flavor and the wrinkliest toe on her foot. He sighed from his place, and his arm on the frame of the house caused a slight tremor, but perhaps only he felt it, for Noodle said nothing. 

She walked along those floorboards, her odd stockings leaving not a trace as her head swiveled on her shoulders. She took in every detail, but said not a single thing. Nonetheless, disappointment seemed heavily apparent on her figure, as she stepped back onto Russel's giant hand. 

"When I get my hands on Murdoc, I'm gonna rip that little asshole's bulgy nose off." Russell grumbled, setting her with commendable effort back on the beachfront itself, where she immediately sat as if it were routine, arms crossed over her pale knees. 

"I am not so sure we'll get the chance to see it again." Noodle murmured. She knew she was on the verge of tears, as far off as her thoughts were from Murdoc, the fact that the embodiment of her thoughts was also absent – it struck an odd sensation of pain in her heart. She sighed, unable to stay still for long, and hoped to her feet. 

"Don't say that." Russel asked, from above, his voice it's softest and smoothest. He sensed the angst in her, but could only do so much to keep his own under the bar until it got loose. "I'll get you back to 2-D and that little Bastard if it's the last thing I do. Got me?" 

Lifting her face, Noodle's face crammed into a rough smile under her mask, unbeknownst to her father-figure above her whose own smile was a bit week. "I got you, Russel-Sama." 


	5. Chapter 3: Hospitality

"How're you today, Mr. Pot?"

2-D looked up, abruptly, from his right, where Noodle had been standing, as was the usual spot she had somehow taken up. She was immediately at his bedside, often smiling, sometimes singing, even at times caught up in a minute silence, but always there. He was even certain she stayed with him in his sleep, though she always hid when any other presence wormed its way into his room.

This irritated him without end.

"Fine." He murmured, his expression a testament to the exact opposite.

"I sense some hostility." The doctor said; his voice as clear as ever. In the meantime of these daily checkups, 2-D often spent his time thinking all the while of – well, what else? Noodle. Where she was hiding all these times people came to visit (unwelcomed), if she was every hungry or cold, growing a little lonely, restless, or bored. Other countless things passed his mind, but they all seemed to involve her, even in a small part. At times in the morning, after slipping mouthful after mouthful of gruol into his mouth from the hospital's shifty little kitchen, he thought he'd much prefer Russel's cooking, and even then, that only reminded him of Noodle. She was there, even when she was gone.

"Got at least one fing right 'is time." 2-D murmured, putting his head back between his hands. His migraine pills had been rendered completely useless as of late, but he still took them at the established decimals, simply out of habit. The habit, along with Noodle's continuous presence, soothed him.

In the back of his mind, it occurred to him the things were coincidental – his admittance to this awfully weird place, and the reappearance of his little love again - not stringed or connected, though both affected him with crippling strength. He still wanted to believe he could go on however he wanted.

"I see." The Doctor said, checking something off on his clipboard. Sodding git was always doing that. "I thought I would take this opportunity to also show you something. Is this alright?"

The vocalist's gaze, as hollow as ever, seemed completely apathetic towards the matter. His head made an odd shaking gesture, but he spoke and said, "It don't ma'tta."

"Alright." The Doctor said, and pulled from his clipboard a single newspaper clipping. Unfazed and still crisp from the morning's printing, in 2-D's lanky hands, it felt delicate, like the feather of a bird. It was as if it were something hovering just above hi palms, something not entirely within his grasp, but tauntingly close enough to feel. This misconception was probably, he realized, brought on by the headaches, but the odd gravity with the paper felt oddly real.

GORILLAZ FRONTMAN IN REHAB – SUFFERS FROM DELUSIONS

FANS IN UPROAR

Depicted in a picture bellow was a dated portrait of 2-D, a cavalier smile on his lips, a cigarette between two fingers under his chin. The headlines and picture was all he managed to capture in his near-useless mind before the paper was swept up again by the Doctor.

"What do you think of this?" He asked, in his callously simple voice.

"Wull, 'ts not true, ob'fiously!" 2-D began, his voice a sharp outburst. "I'm in 'ere because I fell on me face for the hundref time, not some bloody delusions!"

"Is that so?"

Abruptly caught off guard by this statement, the bluette clasped his hands together as he had grown in habit of after his long stay at the Plastic Beach. It seemed of less comfort to him here. On the Beach, he had that god-awful blasted whale to hide from. But here… the gesture was empty with nothing but really himself to try to stay away from.

"I'll be seeing you again tomorrow, Mr. Pot. Please think about what we discussed until then."

2-D watched the man leave, his thick eyebrows a mess over his eyes, pulled down sharply.

"I don't get 'im." He said, turning to Noodle, who had appeared once again, from her hiding place. She cocked her head to match his stare, her eyes hidden by her disheveled hair - innocent and bright. "Wot's he want from me anyways, huh? 'Oo's he fink 'e is?"

"2-D-San, don't worry about him." Noodle's voice started up, careful and clever, her accent stretched in a lovely way over every word. Every word was rather perfect. Come to think of it, _she_ was rather perfect. "He's but a speck on the horizon of the whole world!"

2-D, who understood this about as well as her other ramblings, shrugged. "Wull, lil' luv, wot's for today?" He managed a smile, his tongue peering in the gap of his front teeth.

Noodle beamed, as well, not a shadow passing on her face. "I'd like to sing for you some more."


	6. Chapter 4: Doppelganger

Noodle and Russel's stay at the Plastic Beach had spanned approximately four days, when the figure appeared on the pier.

Noodle had told Russel she'd been sleeping in the study, but she spent the great passage of her nights underwater in 2-Ds room, using every second to invoke a search for his whereabouts. The music playing in the study hurt her far too much to listen to. It invoked the sort of wishing she got in her heart and mind, hearing her estranged friend's voice over the speakers. She wanted him very badly in her life again. It was something she had no words to explain, and more importantly, no one to explain it to.

Russel was constantly hanging in the outskirts of the island, still too inflated to venture inside, though he did appear to be shrinking noticeably with each passing day. He had, despite his size, filled only the half of the void Noodle felt, warped inside her. His daily presence took most of the physical pain she felt away, but the paranoia not at one single moment left her side.

She had been, in fact, reflecting upon this, the very moment she heard the boat's motor. She almost mistook such a thing for Russel's snores, but was only to find the Brooklener was passed out, half on the breadth of the beach, the remainder of him extended lazily over the water. Outlines of his figure floated in the milky morning light around him.

Noodle, immediately seized in hope, ran to the lift in an exaggerated flimsy, her mind brightening with imagination. What it would be like to see them again. Her hands in fists, the woman could hardly contain herself, as she rushed to the pier, with abandon. She wasted no time putting a thing on her feet- in the dead of night she would have been shivering even with the proximity of the hope she felt so close to warming her. In the early morning, however, there was just enough warmth to keep her edging at a great speed toward the pier. However, the longer she ran, the more evident it became, that the figure was alone. The ship had already left at this point, tooting out grey smoke along as it cleaved through the ocean.

Noodle had stopped her outburst and was now standing, a still figure among the two visible on the pier, the only other figures aside from Russel a hundred miles away.

The figure, which was clearly a girl, certainly also a young one, was turned, her back to Noodle as she stood, consciously clutching herself. Inexplicably, she found herself quite concerned of her presence near this girl. Not for the girl's safety, as it would've more sensibly been, but for her own.

This feeling was given new light as the girl turned, A wicked blankness on her face.

Any and all noises possibly mustered by a human body were clogged in Noodle's throat as she tried to force something to escape.

Her 15 year old self, grotesquely fleshed out in detail and stance, stood before her, dark eyes keen and pressed up on her, hair bristled and completely still in the wind, body unhesitant to face her. She was dressed in an almost typical military getup – minus the hardhat, she was dressed out in a heavy vest ,too large for her gangly body and Asian physique. However, this vision of herself seemed to have no problem holding herself high. Noodle, as the woman she had grown to be, knew she could take nearly anyone in a fight, with the right tools, under the right circumstances. And surely she had the advantage here. However, of all the tactics that had made a bulleted list in her head, not a one she would be able to apply to herself.

"What are you?" Noodle breathed, her entire body tensed in a single moment's notice, although quite sure she was dreaming.

"Murdoc has not permitted me to answer that question at this time." The doppelganger spoke, in a voice reminiscent of her own, and yet noticeably less human. "I'm here to bring you back to him."

I know, I know! I'm greatly awaiting 2-D's reunion with the true Noodle as well. I can hardly keep up with myself. However, things have to get a bit stickier before this can happen. There are quite a few POVs going on here, but I hope they're all pretty clear. It was awesome to write this. Please tell me what you think.


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